The Ministry: New World Artefacts
by John Nugent
Summary: The wizarding world has moved on. The Voldemort years are in the past and Harry Potter has done his best to fade into the background. Nothing is ever completely over though. A rare request brings two young Aurors across the sea.


It was the first time he had ever flown on an aeroplane. Mongo Jenkins looked out of the small oval shaped windows next to his smelly blue patterned seat and wondered at the complexity of it all. He watched clouds break over the wings of the plane like marshmallow water and watched far below as another aeroplane past below traveling in an another direction over the Atlantic Ocean. He looked at his watch, another item he'd never used before and checked the time. He'd been flying, if that's what you called this, for three hours. Nine more to go!

Mongo sighed and wondered for the hundredth time how muggles did it. How did they put up with going this slow! He stretched his stiff limbs and pulled at the tight collar and the tie around his neck. The last time he'd looked it had been terribly askew and looked nothing like the pictures of the muggles in the catalogue each of the aurors had been given to help them blend in.

The fat muggle next to Mongo snorted loudly in his sleep and a great thick arm flopped into Mongo's lap. He gingerly picked it up by the wrist between two of his fingers and set it on the man's own side. Mongo looked around the cabin of the plane for one of the waitresses. He wanted more of those little peanuts. They were the only good thing about the trip so far.

Minutes later he felt something tickling his ear. Mongo swatted at his ear and felt nothing. He opened magazine without moving pictures and wondered how anyone knew what anyone looked like if the pictures didn't move. Something tickled his ear again. This time he didn't move. It continued brushing the tip of his ear, taunting him to move.

Mongo closed the magazine and dropped a hand into his enchanted pocket. He felt past Muggle Phrases and You: An Essential Phrase Book, three boxes of Bertie Bots Every Flavour Beans, and a wallet full of American muggle money.

He wrapped his thin fingers around his wand and whispered, "Accio wand!"

In his other hand he promptly caught Jongo's wand and regarded it calmly pretending he didn't know where it had come from. There was a heavy thump on the back of his chair and a throaty whisper, "Oi! Givver back, Mongo!"

Mongo looked behind at his younger brother, carefully trying not to disturb that fat muggle, "What's your wand doing out, eh, Jongo?"

Jongo grimaced at his brother whispered, "I'm so bored, Mongo!"

Jongo was a foot taller than Mongo and twice as thick around the middle. Everyone had always said the two brothers had their names backward. Jongo hated that. They both had the same stringy sandy brown hair though and, due to a childhood pact, the same slightly rakishly crooked nose. There was no mistaking that the two Jenkins boys were brothers.

"Bored doesn't mean you can use magic on a muggle aeroplane, Jongo."

Another disheveled looking man approached. One of his ears was lower than the other, the result of a curse. This man was older had an experienced air about him that said he'd seen things. Seril Boldergarp had been an auror twelve years before when You-Know-Who had refunded and been defeated by...

"You two are making enough racket to drown out a family of smoldering flew rats," he whispered loudly drawing looks from several muggles around them.

Behind Boldergarp a short woman approached and looked at the trio which all turned bemused looking eyes at her.

Boldergarp leaned forward and whispered to Mongo, "Which of you called the waitress?"

Mongo shrugged and looked at a sheepish Jongo. "Sorry," he said, "my head hit the bloody button."

Boldergarp turned around with a flourish as if he were wearing his usual black cloak, "Peanuts for me and my friends!"

The woman gawked at the older man, taking a few moments longer than was polite to take in his appearance and that of his two friends. Boldergarp leaned toward the woman, "And a tot of rum for myself, if you don't mind, girl."

The woman looked at him as if to ask if he was insane. Her mouth opened and closed several times as she tried to decide what to say to the trio or extremely odd gentlemen in front of her.

"Back to your seats!" She finally said in a nasal voice that would have grated on the nerves of most people. Instead the three wizards looked at her with rapt attention.

"Are you an American?" Boldergarp asked placing a gnarled hand on her shoulder. There was pure wonder in his eyes.

"Why…yes…I…but…you…," she stammered, "Back. To. Your. Seats!"

She said this with short crisp clear syllables like each was made out of little slabs of concrete.

Mongo looked at his fellow aurors and turned around in his chair and looked pointedly straight ahead.

Boldergarp huffed and headed toward the back of the plane. Mongo said, "Blimey," under his breath and then left the row of two empty seats behind Mongo. He leaned back and rapt on the back of Mongo's chair.

"My wand!"

Mongo rolled his eyes and handed the narrow piece of finely carved wood with a swirling snake around it's length back to his brother, "Put it away, Jongo."

The waitress watched them all disperse with disapproving eyes and then looked pointedly at Mongo, "Do you need anything, then?"

"Peanuts, please," he replied cheerfulliy.

It was sometime later.

Mongo looked at his watch, figured the time, and sighed. He felt like they weren't moving at all. He did sympathize with his brother. Muggle travel was infuriatingly boring.

The waitress, or rather stewardess, as she'd rather roughly corrected him, was coming down the aisle trying to avoid his gaze. Mongo couldn't fathom why. He'd been perfectly pleasant to the woman.

The fat man had moved finally to the empty seats behind Mongo and promptly fallen asleep again. Mongo stretched out and extended his long legs toward the aisle. It felt so good to stretch them out.

He looked around the cabin. It was dimly lit with little screens the muggles called teevee screens showing moving images on the. Most of the muggles were either staring at the little screens or asleep. It was eerie. Mongo had traveled on a Dragon transport once from Romania. It had been a much more lively journey but the muggles on this aeroplane reminded him strongly of the confunded dragons about the transport.

Another stewardess, this time a male one was coming his direction. This one was staring right at him.

He handed a piece of paper to Mongo who took it and smiled widely saying, "Thank you, stewardess."

The man narrowed his eyes and said in another accent Mongo didn't recognize, "Think you're funny, pal?"

Mungo shifted uncomfortably in his seat, "Um, yes…sure."

"Well, you're not. I'm a steward."

"Oh," Mongo said.

"Yeah," the steward said and tossed a package of peanuts into his lap.

"Thank you!" Mongo said brightly.

Mongo looked at the small piece of paper, a napkin with the words 'Friendly Skies' arced over a sun smiling kindly down on a little aeroplane flying underneath it.

Mongo looked at it wondering what it was supposed to mean. He had five such napkins from each of three times they'd all been fed so far.

Suddenly the sun looked straight at him and winked.

Mongo's eyes widened.

The sun nodded and wagged it's head toward the front of the plane. The little aeroplane beneath it flew around doing acrobatics that spelled 'BAR' in trailing smoke.

Then the sun's face became serious. Lightning bolts shot from his eyes and hit the little plane sending it careening off the napkin trailing the letters, 'Ahhhhhhhh!' after it.

Mongo smiled and shoved the napkin into his pocket.

He got up marveling at Boldergarp's magic. The man could do amazing things even when doing parlour tricks.

A little circular staircase at the front of the plan went up to a small lounge with couches, another much larger teevee on the wall playing muggle sports and a well stocked bar.

Mongo didn't see Boldergarp anywhere.

There was a heavyset woman in a long coat at one table reading a paper. Two men, each with matching briefcases were locked in some kind of intense whispered conversation and a narrow man with unruly black hair sat watching the teevee with his back to Mongo. Not seeing anyone to talk to, Mongo went to the bar and smiled at the barman.

"Rum, please."

The barman leveled a hard look at Mongo and then the turned around to get his drink.

"No drinking, Mongo."

The whisper came from the man with the hair.

Mongo tapped the barman on the shoulder saying, "Never mind."

He then approached the man, his hand reaching slowly into his pocket, "Do I know you, sir?"

The man motioned to a seat in front of him, "Please, sit."

Mongo sat down and looked at the man skeptically. He had a similar build to his own though a bit more slight with less muscle. He had a well defined chin and wore spectacles that…

Mongo's eyes went wide. Over his right eye, just barely covered by a lock of thick black hair was a scar. It wasn't just any scar. It was a 'the' scar. It was the scar everyone in the wizarding world knew better than their own. A scar given by the darkest wizard of all time and belonging to the wizard who defeated him, despite not having even finished at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"Mr. Potter!" Mongo nearly yelled leaping to his feet and extending a hand, "Mr. Potter it is an honour to meet you, sir. A true honour it truly is!"

The famous wizard looked around uncomfortable and smiled awkwardly at the heavy woman who was glaring at the ruckus. He turned to Mongo, "Shhhh!"

"Sorry, sir!" Mongo rasped, still standing. He didn't know what to do. It was as if a fit of nerves had seized his stomach and his limbs at the same time. Harry Potter was talking to…him!

"Sit, Mongo. Please!" the wizard hissed desperately.

"Sorry, sir. Yes, sir. Of course."

A kind, affable smile lit the corner's of his lips as Mongo sat, "And please," he said extending a hand to shake Mongo's, "Call me Harry.


End file.
